He's Not Himself
by WritePassion
Summary: He takes a serious blow to the head, and suddenly Michael is not himself. An Epilogue has been posted, this story is now complete.
1. Chapter 1

Stayed home today, not feeling well, and this idea just popped into my head. Six hours later, I've posted it for your enjoyment.

**He's Not Himself**

By WritePassion

"Michael!" Fiona screamed his name as he fell backwards over the railing. If only she'd been a little faster, she would have been there in time. She could have kept him from falling. The thumping of feet behind her caught her attention, along with gunfire. She watched helplessly as Sam ran past her, firing on the man who caused this tragedy. His target bucked with each bullet that pierced his body, and yet he raised his gun to attempt to shoot at Sam.

Sam was like a crazed man as he closed the distance between himself and Anson, and a second later he threw his entire weight into the man. Anson had a little fight left in him and he tried to get Sam off balance to throw him over the edge to join Michael down below. But Sam's anger fueled an almost superhuman strength. Fiona took a few steps forward, unable to believe what she was seeing as Anson rolled over the railing, grabbed Sam's shirt, and took him over the edge with him.

"Noooooo!" She ran to the edge and looked over the precipice. Michael lay on the asphalt three stories below, and Anson's body wasn't far from his lying at a strange angle. But Sam...she heard a grunt and looked down. His hand was curled around the rail, but it was slipping. "Sam! Hang on, I've got you!"

"No, Fi, just...just get help." He grasped the rail with his right hand so his position was less tenuous, but he still needed assistance.

"Help is here," Jesse exclaimed as he suddenly appeared beside Fiona.

"What...took you so long," she huffed as she pulled on Sam's arm to keep him from falling.

Jesse leaned over, grabbed the back of Sam's shirt, and hauled him up to where Sam could wrap his arms over the rail and pull himself up. "I was taking out Anson's accomplice. Sorry, but he was a big dude!" He patted Sam's back as he settled his feet on the rooftop. "You okay, man?"

"Yeah, just great." He leaned over, picked up his gun and stuffed it into his belt. "Let's go check on Mike."

They ran down the stairs as quickly as their feet would carry them and came out to the empty parking lot behind the building. Sam and Jesse reached Michael first and knelt on each side of his body with worried expressions burned into their faces. "He's got a pulse. That's a good sign," Sam remarked as he checked him over. "Nothing broken that I can tell. It's a freakin' miracle." A small groan came out of Michael and they turned their full attention on him. "Hey Mikey, come on, man. Wake up. Let us know you're okay."

Michael's eyes slowly opened and he blinked against the bright sunlight streaming down into his face. Fiona moved her body so it blocked it at the same time that Michael raised his hand. "Thanks," he said.

"You're welcome, Michael. Are you okay? Do you remember what happened?"

He looked around carefully, wincing at the pain in his head. "Michael? Which one of you guys is Michael?"

"Oh come on, Mike, don't play games with us," Sam chided him as he glanced at Fiona.

"Who do you think I am?" Michael asked blankly.

"You're Michael Westen," Jesse replied, anxiety creeping into his response. "Who do you think you are?"

"My name's..." He glanced at Sam, and a spark of recognition seemed to fill his eyes. "I'm Chuck. Chuck Finley."

"Oh come on, Mike! You know that's my alias! Stop kidding around here, brother!"

"I'm not kidding." Michael's voice gained strength as he confidently repeated, "My name is Chuck Finley! Why would I kid about that? Why do you keep calling me Mike?" He sat up too quickly, and his eyes rolled back as he lost consciousness. Sam and Jesse stopped him from falling back to the asphalt.

"This is bad, Sam. Real bad."

"I know. As much as I hate to say it, we've gotta get him to the hospital." Between him and Jesse, they were able to put Michael in the back of the Charger. "Fi, are you coming with, or taking your car? Look, I know you want to stay with Mike, but it might be dangerous leaving your car here."

"Yes, you're right." She gave Michael a worried glance before turning to her vehicle.

"I better go with her, Sam. She won't show it, but she's shaken up right now."

"With good reason. Yeah, go ahead, Jesse. Mike'll probably be out for awhile."

Sam drove Michael to the hospital, obeying all the traffic laws within a hair's breadth, trying to get him there fast without creating any unwanted attention. They were almost there when he heard him stir in the back.

"Hey Mike, it's okay. We're almost to the hospital." Suddenly, he felt the cool barrel of a gun pressed against his neck. As calmly as he could, Sam asked, "Mike, what are you doing?"

"It's Chuck, and don't you forget it."

"O...okay, Chuck. Why don't you put the gun down, huh? We're friends."

"I don't know you. You could be anybody. I don't know why you're so set on taking me to the hospital, there's nothin' wrong with me." He pressed the gun deeper into Sam's neck and ordered, "Pull over, right here."

"Mike...I mean, Chuck, you're making a big mistake."

"I know what I'm doing."

Sam sighed deeply and parked in a spot. There was a park in front of them, and lots of people. He was afraid of what might happen next if Michael became upset enough to start shooting. "Okay, now what?"

Michael pushed the passenger seat forward, opened the door, and hopped out. "You stay here, and don't tell anybody you saw me. Clear? You talk..."

"Sam. My name is Sam." He turned off the car and got out, the vehicle a shield between them. "Now Chuck, why don't you just let me take you somewhere?"

"No, Sam. I've got a mission to take care of. Just stay here and don't follow me, or you'll wind up dead."

"M...Chuck, I'm more worried about you winding up dead!"

Michael turned away and spent a couple of seconds looking up and down the sidewalk, trying to determine which way to go. This gave Sam enough time to come around the car and take a flying leap at him, trying to close the distance quickly and tackle him to the ground. At this point he didn't care how much attention it got them. His main objective was keeping Mike from running off to God only knew where.

Even in his addled state, Michael's reflexes were good. He pulled out the gun, aimed, and fired at Sam before his friend could grab him. Sam's body hit the pavement hard and he lay unmoving. Heads turned at the report, and a bike cop a block away zeroed in on Michael.

"Oh crap," he whispered as his eyes widened and he turned on the ball of his foot. He ran for his life up the sidewalk, not knowing where he was going. He just knew he had to get away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Chuck ran until his sides heaved from the effort. He dodged into narrow alleys and through the back of small shops in an effort to rid himself of the bicycle cop. But the cop called for assistance, so he had very few options for escape. When he didn't think he could go on any longer, he found an abandoned building and took refuge there. He climbed the rickety stairs to the fourth floor and found signs that he wasn't the only one hiding away. Cardboard boxes were cut and placed to create walls for a makeshift bedroom. It was unoccupied for now, and surprisingly clean for being in such a place.

_This is somebody's home. But I'm so tired. I'll just stay for a little while until I get my bearings. Then I can get back to my mission. Gotta get that Steve Remington guy before he sells off all those illegal weapons._

Chuck lay on the lumpy mattress but didn't cover himself. It was too warm in the building for that. He tucked his weapon under the pillow for safe keeping and easy grabbing if necessary. He needed help, and the one person who stuck his neck out and took a risk taking him to the hospital, he shot.

_I shouldn't have shot that Sam guy. I think he meant well, but...but I'm okay._

He drifted into a deep sleep that lasted for several hours. He hadn't intended to stay for so long, but little did he know that Michael Westen had a serious head injury, and he wasn't himself.

"Hey, mister. Hey, wake up! You're in my bed!"

His eyes slowly opened to the sight of a dark haired young woman crouched beside him. Her straight bangs and hair that framed her face were dark as coal, and her concerned brown eyes reminded him of someone else. "I'm sorry. Is this your place?" He sat up slowly and surreptitiously slid the gun from underneath the pillow and tucked it into his belt. "Sorry, I just came in here, I was tired, and there was nobody here at the time."

"It's okay. Wouldn't be the first time I've found someone sleeping in my bed. Us down on our luck folks have to kind of stick together sometimes, you know?" She smiled and offered her hand. "Hi, I'm Camille. My friends call me Cam or Cami."

"Chuck Finley." He shook her hand.

"Hey, you're kind of clammy. Are you okay?" She reached out and gently placed the palm of her hand over his forehead. "Holy cow, Chuck, you're really warm!"

"It's just the jacket, if I take it off..."

"No, that's not it at all! You're sick! Come on, take off that jacket and lay down. I know where I can get some cool water, and I've got some aspirin. If you're running a fever, we need to get that down."

"No, I can't stay here. I have a mission to take care of." Chuck pushed himself off the bed, but he didn't get far. He stumbled and Camille caught him, gently setting him down on his knees.

Her hand roved down to his waist and she found the gun. "Chuck, why are you armed?"

"Long story, Cam. Remind me to tell you sometime, but right now I have to get out of here."

"No, you're not going anywhere. If I have to, I'll get my friends to help keep you here." She ran soothing hands over his face and head, and that was when she discovered the large bump on the back of his skull. "Chuck, what happened to you?"

"I don't know. I got knocked out and I woke up in an empty parking lot. There were these strangers all looking at me, calling me by another name." He shook his head. "It's not important."

"You must have fallen. That's quite a knot you have back there. And it was bleeding at one time, at least a little bit. Your collar is stained red." Camille shook her head. "Chuck, please, just stay the night at least. Maybe tomorrow things will look a lot clearer." She smiled as he looked up at her. "Are you hungry? I have a little money. I work odd jobs here and there for cash, enough to get us both some supper and a few supplies to take care of that head wound."

"You'd do that for me? Camille...Cami...thank you."

"You're welcome, Chuck. You just lay down and I'll be back in a little while. Don't leave, okay? Promise me you won't leave!"

Chuck lay on his back and studied her wide eyes. For some reason, she was truly worried about him being on the streets. Finally, he nodded. "I promise, I'll stay here."

Camille grinned. "Great! I'll be back as soon as I can." She jumped to her feet and ran around the cardboard walls. Her footfalls echoed in the empty building and soon faded away, along with Michael's tenuous grip on consciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Camille returned from her trip to the small market bearing bandages, antiseptic, some fruit and day old bread, and some cheese. Under her arm she carried a gallon of water. She approached her little haven cautiously, not sure if she would find Chuck asleep or awake. _If he's awake, will he be pointing that gun at me?_ She stepped around the corner and stuck her head into the room. Chuck was out like a light and snoring softly. She breathed a sigh of relief.

After setting down the things she bought on an old cable spool she used as a table, Camille approached Chuck and touched his forehead. It was hotter than before. Before she could do anything to help, however, she needed to find that gun and confiscate it. In his mental state, who knew what might set him off and make him shoot her or someone else? She was familiar with firearms, so when she found it, she cleared it of the clip and the extra bullet resting in the chamber. Then she hid both gun and ammunition in separate piles of her things.

"Okay, now I can take care of you, Chuck." She wet a cloth and pressed it against his forehead. It bothered her that it warmed up so quickly, and she knew she would need some ice.

"Cam, are you here?"

_Sid. You couldn't have come at a better time!_ She beamed at the young man who poked his head into her room. Aloud, she said, "Hi Sid. Can you do me a favor?"

"Hey, who's the guy?" Sid, who couldn't have been more than fourteen, stepped into the room and crouched at Chuck's feet, studying him intently in the waning light. "He looks like a cop."

"I don't know what he is. All I know is he's got a head injury, and he should be in the hospital. But he insisted he had a 'mission' to fulfill." Camille sighed. "I'm trying to do what I can for him, but he's got a fever. Sid, can you run to the bodega and get me one of those cheap styrofoam coolers full of ice?"

"Sure. Anything else, Cam?"

"That's good for now." She rifled through her pocket and pulled out a few dollars. "Here you go, Sid. Hurry, please."

"Okay. I'll be right back."

While she waited, Camille kept replacing the cloths and bandaged up the wound on the back of his head. _If only I had something more than just aspirin. _She forced a few tablets down his throat when he became semi-conscious for a brief period. He needed a doctor's attention, even though she knew how to treat a concussion. She used to have access to all the stuff she needed to help him, but...

"I'm back," Sid announced, out of breath, as he set the cooler down near her patient's head. "Hey, give me one of those cloths. I'll make an ice bag."

"Thanks, Sid. You're a great kid." Camille smiled at him, and that was all he needed for encouragement. She knew the teen had a crush on her, but she was ten years older and a lot wiser, a lot more beaten up by life and its crazy turns.

"So, what do you know about this guy?"

"Not much. He said his name was Chuck Finley and he was on a mission."

"A spy?"

Camille shrugged. If it were up to her, she'd just as soon not know. Knowledge was dangerous in the wrong place and time. Ask the family of the patient she accidentally killed, and they would concur. She shook that thought out of her head. "We're probably better off not knowing, Sid."

"Well, I don't feel comfortable with him here, Cam. I want to know more." Sid dug his hand into Chuck's pants pocket and came up with a money clip and a lock picking tool set. "Wow, check this out! There's gotta be a thousand bucks here!"  
>"Sid, put that back!" Camille clamped onto his wrist as her eyes bored into his. "I mean it."<p>

"Okay, okay. Just doing some investigatin' that's all." Sid smiled good-naturedly as he replaced the items. "He's got a cellphone in his other pocket. Ah, and a wallet in his back pocket. Let's see here..." Camille made a grab for it, but he held it just out of her reach as he laughed. Then he opened it, and his eyes bugged. "Oh my god, Cam. He is a spy! But his name isn't Chuck Finley. Check it out!"

Sid turned the wallet so Camille could see in the dim oil lamp light the drivers license and CIA key card with Michael's picture on them. "Michael Westen. That's his real name."

"He must be undercover as Chuck Finley. But if that's the case, why didn't he have ID to back it up?"

"I don't know, Sid. This is getting really weird." Camille took the ice pack Sid made and placed it on Michael's forehead. "Mr. Westen, you are a mystery." She shook her head. "Sid, if you could keep watch tonight, I'd really appreciate it. We can do shifts or something." She held out her hand and motioned for him to give her the wallet. "I want to take a better look at this and see if we can find someone he knows. Someone better equipped to help him than I."

"Aw, Cami, don't sell yourself short. You're a great nurse!"

She shook her head. "I was until I screwed up and killed the son of a Colonel. Then my career was over, and now I can't get a job cleaning bedpans in a civilian hospital!" Every time those memories came back, they reduced her to tears.

"I'm sorry, Cami. I-I didn't mean to make you cry." He patted her shoulder, but it was useless. "I'll, um, take first watch. You try to settle down, okay?" He dropped the cellphone and wallet beside Michael's body and left the room.

Camille settled down and swiped the drying tears from under her eyes. As she looked at Michael sleeping, she felt a wave of pity for him. She knelt beside him, checked his pulse and breathing again, and sat on the edge of the mattress. The cellphone glinted in the low light where it lay, tempting her. She picked it up, turned it over, and activated the screen. A box indicated that he had fifty unanswered calls and almost as many voice mails. If she knew the code, she could get in and listen to them. Maybe they were from his friends, or his boss, looking for him.

_His address book. Yes, that's the ticket!_ She touched the address book icon and was surprised that it wasn't password protected._ You would think a spy would keep a lock on that!_ Instead, it opened right up for her. The names were listed alphabetically, last name first. At the top of the list: Axe, Sam. Her thumb hovered over the name, debating whether to call this Sam person first. She bypassed him and scrolled down to Glenanne, Fiona. _Girlfriend, perhaps?_ She smiled. There were only two other womens' names on the list: Pearce, Kim, and Westen, Madelyn. _His mom...or his wife?_ She didn't see a ring on his finger, so she supposed it must be his mom. _No, I can't call her, especially at this time of night! What mother would want to hear that her son is injured and holed up in an abandoned office building in Little Havana?_

Camille set the phone down beside the wallet. She imagined that none of these people would be happy to get this news so late at night. _Besides, Michael is holding his own, and he's rousable, so at this point he's not really in any danger. It's safer for him to stay here until morning, and then I'll call the first name on the list, work my way down until someone comes to pick him up._

She picked up his wallet next, sat in a lawn chair near the oil lamp, and flipped through the plastic folio inside. Besides a drivers license and the key card, it contained very little. A credit card that she assumed must have been issued by the CIA, because she recognized the look of a government issued card. A library card. A picture of a woman with reddish brown hair that hung down around her shoulders and big blue green eyes. On the folio's flip-side, another picture. This one was of Michael standing under a barren tree next to a man his height with reddish brown hair. It looked like an old picture, and reminded her of Afghanistan. They both wore military fatigues, but the man on the right wore Navy insignia, and Michael wore Army. She smiled at the irony, considering all the rivalry between the two branches. Their relaxed body language, the arms over their shoulders, and the way they smiled at the camera told her of a deep friendship between them.

She pulled the photograph from its holder and flipped it over. "Me and Sam, Afghanistan '03."

"I was right," she whispered with satisfaction. "I wonder if this is the same Sam on his phone."

Camille grabbed the cellphone and returned to the address book. Yes, it was late, but after seeing the photograph, if this was the same man, surely he would want to know Michael's whereabouts. No matter the circumstances. She studied his eyes in the picture. There was an intensity in them that convinced her this was the best course of action. She dialed.

"Hey, it's Sam Axe. Leave a message." The phone beeped, and Camille cut the connection.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Cami, wake up."

Camille opened her eyes and saw Sid standing over her. She rubbed the last of the sleep away and asked, "What time is it?"

"Nine, I think."

"Is he still asleep?" Camille sat up and turned her head toward the bed. Michael lay facing the wall.

"I checked him and he seemed cooler today. That's good, right? And that lump seems to have gone down some, too." He looked at Camille, seeking her approval.

"Yes, Sid, that's really good. Now you better run off to your job. Don't want you to get fired."

"They don't care, as long as somebody is cleaning the bathrooms." Sid grumbled as he left, then called over the wall. "You're gonna be okay with him alone?"

"I'll be fine. See you later, Sid."

_If all goes well, his friend Sam will be here today to pick him up._

"Hey, it's Sam Axe. Leave a message."

She tried again with the same result.

"Okay, I'll try this Fiona chick. Maybe she'll answer her phone." Last night she uncovered the back of the other photo and found a simple "Fi" written on it. It had to be her.

"This is Fi. Leave a message."

Camille growled. "What is wrong with you people! Your friend is in trouble, and you can't be bothered to pick up your cellphones? Jeez!" She waited until she cooled down before dialing Madelyn Westen. Surely she would pick up the phone!

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mrs. Westen?"

"Yes, this is she. Who are you?"

"My name is Camille. I'm in Little Havana, and...and I found your son, Michael."

"Michael?" She breathed his name. "Where? Where is he?" Camille was about to answer, but she heard Mrs. Westen screech, "Fiona! Someone found Michael!"

"Fiona. Fiona is with you?"

"Yes. Do you know her?"

"No, it's just...never mind. Mrs. Westen, Michael needs medical attention. I've done what I can for him with my limited resources. He needs to be in a hospital." She paused, unsure whether to tell her the worst news of all. "Yesterday he was calling himself Chuck Finley, and when he was unconscious, I went through his wallet and phone, hoping to find someone who could tell me who he really was after I saw his drivers license."

"You should have called me last night! I haven't gotten a wink worrying about him!"

"I apologize, Mrs. Westen. I didn't want to upset anyone. I did what I thought was right."

"It's okay," Madelyn settled down. "Please Camille, give me the address and we'll come get him."

"It's an abandoned office building on Flagler." She gave Michael's mother the address.

"Thank you, Camille. We'll be there soon."

"We're on the fourth floor."

Michael stirred as Camille hung up the phone. She moved toward him and gently touched his arm as he rolled to face her. His brow furrowed. "Do I know you?"

"Not really. We met yesterday, when you were disoriented, Michael."

"Michael? My name's Chuck. Chuck..."

"So you said yesterday, but I know that's not true. Your name is Michael Westen, and your mom and your friends are coming to get you." His body stiffened, and she gripped his arm. "It's okay, they really are friends! I got your mom's number off your phone. See?" She held up the phone and watched him study it as if it were a bug.

Michael shook his head. "I don't know what kind of game you're playing here, baby, but that's not my phone. If you don't let me out of here right now, I'm gonna have to use force." He reached under the pillow, searching for his gun. "Like yesterday, that Sam guy tried to capture me."

"Sam Axe? Michael, he's your friend!"

Michael glared at her and shook his head. "No, no, he was trying to take me. He said to the hospital, but I don't believe that." He stopped shaking his head and stared over her shoulder. "I didn't want to have to do it, but...I took care of him. And if you don't let me go, I'll have to do the same to you."

"You took care of him? Michael, what did you do?"

He pushed Camille aside and stood, planting his feet wide so he wouldn't lose his equilibrium. "Where's my gun? What'd you do with it?"

"I hid it for your own protection, Michael."

"Stop calling me that!" Michael pressed his fists against the sides of his head as he bent over.

"Michael? Michael, are you here?" A woman's raspy voice called up the stairs. "I heard him, Fiona! He's here!"

Camille called to her. "Up here, Mrs. Westen! Be careful, he's very agitated right now."

Michael stood in the middle of her makeshift room and peered over the walls to see an older woman trotting up the stairs. He didn't know her, yet she seemed familiar to him somehow. On her heels were two people he recognized from the day before. His agitation turned to anger and he turned on Camille. "You brought them here! You tricked me! You said you wanted to help me, and now you called my enemies to come and ambush me!"

He rushed at her, but Camille was a trained black belt. What she didn't know was that she would have been a good match in a fight against Michael if he were in top shape. In his current state, however, she easily disabled him with two good moves. He lay face down on the mattress when Jesse and Fiona came around the cardboard walls.

"Oh Michael," Fiona breathed and approached him carefully.

"He thinks he's some guy named Chuck," Camille informed her. "He needs help."

"We'll get him help."

By the tone of the other woman's voice, Camille had no doubt that they would get him the best care available. She nodded and asked, "Did you bring anything to restrain him?"

Fiona smirked. "I never leave home without these." She held up some zip ties, which Jesse used to bind up Michael's hands and feet.

With Michael murmuring nonsense, Jesse hauled him over his shoulder and started the trek down to the waiting vehicle. Fiona and Madelyn followed, and Camille grabbed his jacket, phone, wallet, and gun and ran to catch up to them. They moved faster than she would have expected, especially for the older woman. She could only imagine what was going through her mind.

"Mrs. Westen! Fiona! Wait!" The two women turned to Camille as she skidded to a stop. "Here. I didn't think you'd want to leave without Michael's things."

"Thank you, Camille, for taking in my son." Madelyn smiled at her.

"Any time, Mrs. Westen. I couldn't let him out on the streets to fend for himself. He would have been...well, it just wouldn't have been good. By the way, where are you taking him? If you don't mind, I'd like to stop by and check on him when he's feeling better."

"We're taking him to Jackson," Fiona replied. "His friend Sam is there too."

"Sam? Oh no, what happened to him?" Camille's eyes grew wide. "He...Michael injured him, didn't he?"

"How did you know," Fiona asked as her eyes narrowed.

"He said something about 'taking care' of Sam. I was afraid he may have killed him."

"No, but he's in very serious condition." Fiona shook her head. "I'm sorry, we can't stand here forever chit-chatting! We have to get Michael to the hospital!"

"I understand completely." Camille silently watched them get into the car. Michael sat between Fiona and Jesse in the back seat, his head back, and he appeared to be unconscious again. Madelyn drove them. As the car disappeared, she said a silent prayer for Michael and his friend, and returned upstairs to get herself ready for whatever odd job she could find that day. The little bit of danger and drama added some excitement to her life, but now it was time to get back to reality.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Michael slowly became aware of his surroundings. First, he smelled the sharp odor of bleach and hospital disinfectant. Then he felt the scratchiness of crisp sheets beneath him. For some reason that brought back a picture of a dark place lit by an oil lamp, littered with clothing and other belongings in a confined space. Then there was the kind face of a dark haired woman watching over him, talking to him. But when he opened his eyes, it was Fiona who leaned over his bedside, and her warm smile put him at ease. He smiled back.

"Fi."

"Michael. You remember me?" Her eyes danced with happiness and relief.

"Why shouldn't I? Fi, what's going on?"

"You don't remember the past few days, not that I blame you. Anson tried to kill you and dumped you over a rooftop."

"Anson. We've got to stop him..." Michael raised himself slightly off the propped up bed, but Fiona held him back down.

"No need, Michael. Sam shot him, and he wound up on the ground with you." She smiled. "Anson is dead. He can't hurt you or any of us anymore."

"Ahh, Sam. I knew I could count on him." Michael closed his eyes and waited until a wave of nausea passed. "Where is he, Fi? Where's Jesse? Are they okay?"

"Jesse's fine. He had to go back to his day job," Fiona answered with a smile, but she hesitated.

Michael knew something was wrong. "What happened to Sam, Fi?"

She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, buying time to figure out how to tell the man he shot his best friend and almost killed him. "Michael, when it happened, you weren't in your right mind. You weren't yourself..."

Michael's eyes watered and he whispered, "Fi, what...did...I...do?"

"You shot him, Michael. He lost his spleen, along with a lot of blood, but give him time and he'll be good as new. Or as good as can be expected, considering it's Sam." She blinked. "But for the past couple of days, we weren't so sure. I thought...I thought we were going to lose both of you."

"I'm sorry." Two simple words, but they held so much pain.

"I'm sure Sam knows that you would never intentionally hurt him. He knows that." She spoke to him in soft tones as she caressed his hair and face.

"I just wish I knew why it all happened."

"Head injuries are funny things, Michael."

He turned toward the voice and noticed a stranger standing in the door. But yet, she wasn't a stranger. He knew her from somewhere. She smiled and entered the room, holding out her hand. "Hi, Michael. You probably don't remember me. My name is Camille. You kind of stumbled upon my place and I took care of you overnight until your mom and friends came to get you."

He took her hand and shook it. "I'm sorry, I wish I could remember that."

"It's okay." She looked disappointed but resigned to the fact that he might not recall that time. "As long as you remember everything you should now. That's good enough for me!"

"I do. Thanks for your help, Camille."

"You're welcome." She stuck her hands into her back pockets and began to back away from the bed. "Well, I feel a lot better knowing you're in good hands. You take care, Michael...Westen. I don't want to have to rescue you in my neighborhood again unless it's absolutely necessary." She grinned, gave him a quick wave, and retreated from the room.

"Nice woman. I wish I remembered more about that."

"It's probably best that you don't, at least not everything that led up to you taking cover at her place." Fiona straightened his blanket. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to finish a job."

"Alone?"

"Not to worry. Your mom is helping me with this one. It's not even remotely dangerous. I'll be back later to see you and Sam." She kissed him on the cheek and sauntered out of the room, leaving Michael to wonder what she had up her short short sleeves.

"Be careful, Fi!"

"I will!"

And he trusted her to keep her word, because he knew her as well as he knew himself.


	6. Chapter 6

**Epilogue**

"You shot me, Mike. I can't believe you shot me!"

"I'm sorry, Sam. I wasn't thinking. I wasn't myself when I did it."

Sam took a drink of his beer and stared at the view from the balcony of Michael's loft. A bank of dark gray storm clouds hovered over the ocean a half mile away. He could feel the electricity in the air as lightning bolts pierced the atmosphere and sliced into the churning water below. The wind kicked up and brought a cooler breeze that sent a rash of goosebumps up his arms.

"Looks like we're in for a real storm," Michael said, trying to change the subject.

"You're not getting out of this that easy." Sam straightened and faced his friend. They both stood on the balcony, and it brought back memories of the day when Michael fell and that one act snowballed into the conversation they were having now. "I don't understand how you could have been so out of yourself that you couldn't see me as a friend. I was taking you to the hospital. Have your enemies ever done that? No, 'cause they'd rather kill you than save you."

"How was I to know that was for real? I've been thrown into vehicles before and taken to places I'd rather not be, places that were not good for my health." Michael set his beer down on the flat railing.

"I suppose." Sam drank, swirled the beer around his mouth, and swallowed. "Why didn't you shoot that woman, Camille? She was a stranger, and yet you trusted her. But you couldn't believe me? That doesn't make sense."

"Nothing made sense at the time. I wish I could tell you how frustrating it was to be so disoriented. It was like parts of me knew what I was doing was all wrong, but I couldn't figure out why. And I let my fear take control." Michael shook his head as he leaned on the rail. "It wasn't a good situation all around. All I can say is that I'm sorry."

Sam nodded as a rumble of thunder shook the building. He straightened, picked up his beer, and moved toward the shelter of the loft. "We better get inside."

"Yeah." Michael sighed and followed Sam. "I don't know why, but I felt safe with Camille. She was like..." He laughed and shook his head. "She was like an angel, too good to be real. I hate to think what might have happened if she hadn't been there."

"Have you gone back to locate her?"

"No, but I should. I never got to say thanks." He took a sip of his beer. "When this storm blows over, will you go to Little Havana with me?"

"Sure, brother. But if we have to go in with guns drawn, you first. I don't want you to 'accidentally' shoot me in the ass or something."

"Sam," Michael growled, but he saw the teasing in his friend's eyes and laid off him.

The sun came out after the ugly clouds rolled out to sea, baking the rain out of the pavement , causing it to steam and make the already sticky air nearly unbearable. Michael drove to the address his mother gave him, and Sam rode beside him in the Charger. He pulled up to the building and saw a For Sale placard juxtaposed with a sign announcing that the building was condemned. Trash littered the entrance and graffiti covered the archway. As Michael and Sam climbed the stairs, they noticed that the building was a haven for many homeless people. Some of them slept, and others stared at the strangers or into space, oblivious to the squalor in which they lived. They reached the fourth floor, and as if he'd been there dozens of times, Michael strode over to the cardboard walls that outlined Camille's home.

He stopped dead in his tracks as he rounded the wall. Sam ran into him. "What's wrong, Mike?"

"Everything's gone. All of Camille's stuff." He glanced around, checking out every inch of the space. The only thing left besides the old mattress was a rickety table with an oil lamp on it. "I don't get it, Sam. This is where she was. I know Fi, Jesse and my mom would confirm it."

"Well, where could she have gone?" Sam looked around the area. "I'll go ask that guy over there." He walked toward a figure that was hunched over in an old lawn chair. "Hey, can you tell me where Camille went?"

"Camille?" A very old face stared up at Sam.

"Yeah, she lived over there." Sam jerked a thumb toward the cardboard wall.

The old man shook his head. "I've lived here for a long time, and there ain't never been anyone named Camille around here."

"Okay, maybe you know her by the name Cam. Or Cami."

"Sam, does he know anything?"

He shook his head. "He says that no one by that name ever lived here." Sam turned back to the old man. "So who did? Somebody put up those walls!"

"That was Sid's place. But he left. Don't know where he is."

Michael sighed and turned in a small circle, hoping to find someone who could give him a better answer. They combed the building, searching for anyone who might know who Camille was and if they remembered her being around when Michael took refuge there.

"I remember you," a young girl said with a smile. "You didn't look so hot back then, but now..." She leered at him.

Michael ignored her comment and asked, "Do you remember who helped me?"

She shook her head. "Just some girl with dark hair. I'd never seen her before, or since, come to think of it." She shrugged. "Some people crash here for awhile, and some stay for years. She was probably some short termer."

"Thank you for your time," Michael replied and turned with Sam to leave.

"Time? I've got lots of that, honey!"

The two men got into Michael's car. Neither of them spoke for a long time. Sam watched the stony expression on his friend's face and knew it bothered him that they couldn't find Camille. "Maybe I can do some checking around, see if any of my cop buddies can dig something up on her."

"Thanks, Sam, but maybe it just wasn't meant to be." He started the car and pulled away from the building.  
>"Yeah. Sorry you didn't get a chance to meet her. She must have been like you said, an angel."<p>

"Oh please, Sam. Don't tell me you believe in such things!"

"Hey, stranger things have happened, Mike. I've heard stories from guys who were so out of reach, only an angel could rescue them. You may have met yours and you didn't even know it."

"Sam," Michael sighed. "Sometimes I think you need attention."

"Yeah, I think you're right." He grinned. "I'm feeling the need for a little female attention tonight. Why don't we grab Jesse for a guys' night out and leave Fi at home? Have some beers, some girls...well, maybe not the girls for you, but you know what I mean."

Michael smiled. He knew his friend meant well, trying to get his mind off Camille, but he wasn't in the mood. "I think I'll just have a nice quiet night at home with Fi. Thanks anyway, Sam."

"Jeez, and I was gonna let you buy me a beer to make up for wrecking my shirt when you shot me."

"I promised I would get you a new one." He pulled up in front of Sam's apartment building. "See you later, Sam."

"Night, Mikey. Tell Fi I said 'hi'."

Michael drove away and the silence fell down around him. He wondered what really happened in that place in Little Havana, if he just imagined it all or if it was really like Sam said. No, the only angel he could believe in was Fiona, and she waited for him at the loft. He hoped that if Camille was real that she was in a safe place tonight and had a better roof over her head than the one he saw today. He didn't realize just how bad it was until their excursion back to the office building.

"Wherever you are, Cam. Thank you."


End file.
